And now that it was nine and there was movement in the hallways of his condo complex, Phil decided it was time to put in motion the plan he’d devised shortly after 2:00 a.m., when he’d given up on sleep and admitted to himself that what he wanted more than anything else at that moment was not so far away.

He walked to the couch in his living room and sat there until nine thirty, when he heard the sounds of slow shuffling coming from next door. When the noises became louder, he turned on the television and used his remote to scroll through his DVR listings. There was still one Sex and the City episode at the bottom of the pack, just after an entire season of 24, which he’d taped more than a year ago.

Phil brought the DVR cursor to the episode, “A Woman’s Right to Shoes.” Phil hadn’t erased it because, secretly, he didn’t hate it. It was the one where Carrie Bradshaw is forced to remove her expensive footwear at a baby shower. She winds up losing her high heels and making a big stink about it.

Phil had liked that episode because he also resented having to go around in socks at his friends’ houses. It wasn’t that he was afraid of his shoes being stolen; it was that he felt like an ogre whenever his feet were exposed. Socks were underwear for the feet, he used to tell Elizabeth. You’re not supposed to walk around in them in front of strangers.

Phil had considered erasing “A Woman’s Right to Shoes” after the breakup, and had deleted all of Elizabeth’s other programs to make room for more of his own, but he couldn’t bear to let this one go, and today it would serve a purpose.

Phil clutched the remote control with his right hand, his thumb hovering unsteadily over the “play” button. He waited until he heard her footsteps closer to their shared wall before he made a move. When he was sure that she was close, perhaps munching on a bagel on the couch or about to turn on her own television on the other side of the thin drywall barrier, he brought his thumb down and quickly turned up the volume as loud as it would go. He listened to the Sex and the City theme song, which played so loud that Phil could feel the marimba melody buzz in his feet. He saw the familiar footage of Carrie Bradshaw walking through New York City in a tutu.

Phil turned to the wall. “Come on,” he whispered to himself as he waited for her to take the bait.

Hannah

Hannah stopped in front of Rob, her hair still dripping, the towel snug around her body. She took in his sloppy hair first, then his eyes, which seemed darker than the last time she’d seen them, and then his T-shirt, which was covered in dried blood. He smiled wickedly, watching her register the mess.